


While You Can

by dnawhite76, Prubbs



Series: I Don't Love You [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman (Comics)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:25:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnawhite76/pseuds/dnawhite76, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prubbs/pseuds/Prubbs
Summary: When a new Superman comes from a world long destroyed, Bruce is forced to put his feelings aside in order to help Clark adapt to his new surroundings.A gift to one of our favorite readers. Merry Christmas!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GingerBites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBites/gifts).



> _“His parents died when he was so young. Shot and killed right in front of him._
> 
> **His entire planet was destroyed. He's the last of a holocaust.**
> 
> _He was raised alone. A kid in a huge mansion. With his memories of his mother and father._
> 
> **He grew up in the dirt. Finding out slowly how different he was. A stranger finding out every day how strange he was.**
> 
> _He had love and they took it from him. He should be a killer. He should want to tear the world appart for what it did._
> 
> **He has the power to tear the world appart. And he could. With a pinkie. It's not his world. We’re not his people. We should be ants to him.**
> 
> _And yet he took that pain. That shock of death. And he turned it into hope._
> 
> **Imagine that. Always benign on the outside. The pain of always being on the outside. And yet, he took that pain and became a symbol of hope. I'm just a Rich kid from the city. I knew my parents. Who I was, what I had to be.**
> 
> _I had the love of parents. I had Ma and Pa the whole way. I had a childhood full of laughing and learning._
> 
> **I didn't have any choice but to be who I am. He had every choice-- and became who he is.**
> 
> _I have powers. I had to do this. All he has are his wits and his will. And he chooses to do this._
> 
> **Every kid is inspired by him.**
> 
> _Everyone wants to be him._
> 
> **He's a better man that I am.**
> 
> _He's just a better man than I am.”_
> 
> - _Clark Kent and _**Bruce Wayne** ; _BATMAN REBIRTH #37: DOUBLE DATE___

Bruce stared at the monitor. He was alone on the watchtower. The man that was supposed to be sitting in the chair next to him was dead, buried next to his father earlier that day. He hadn't gone to the funeral. He'd gotten angry remarks from other members. They didn't understand why he wasn't going. They didn't understand that he couldn't stand there and watch his best friend buried. He couldn't do it again. He'd buried too many people in his life. Alfred had tried in the days leading up to the funeral to get him to agree to attend. He'd told him that no one would think anything of Bruce Wayne honoring the fallen hero. When that didn't work he suggested going in the suit. ‘You'll regret not being there,’ he'd told him. There were a lot of things he regretted in his life, and he knew that saying goodbye to Clark would not be the worst thing he regretted.

People died. Life moved on.

Or it was supposed to.

He glanced over to the empty chair. It wasn’t an odd occurrence when they worked together. Clark always on alert, jetting off to answer the simplest requests. There were times when he glanced over mid sentence and the chair was still spinning from Superman’s exit. His fist clenched. Weeks ago he'd lost control for just a moment and had put his fist through a screen in the cave. He knew he couldn’t give in to the urge here. Someone would ask him what happened and they’d know. They would know that his stoic facade was just that, a facade - covering the cracks - holding them together. On the inside he was mourning the loss of…

Of everything.

Clark’s death felt like yet another straw added to the pile of grief he carried with him every day. His parents, his children, his… love. Clark’s death didn’t just destroy the present, it ended what he’d hoped his future would be.

He knew that Clark loved Lois. He had known that the man loved her before he had even known his name. He’d watched their love bloom, like a flower in spring. And he watched as each petal wilted and fell until the couple had been left with the realization that their love was not strong enough to beat everything like they had thought. Lois loved Superman, he knew that she had grown to love Clark, but it was Superman that she had fallen for first and Clark… he had been and always would be Clark first.

After Lois he’d watched the man grieve. He’d been there to listen to his worries and complaints. Bruce had been the friend that he needed. When that friendship twisted into something deeper, less pure, he didn’t know. But when you loved someone invincible it gave you time to think. Time to get the feelings straightened out, get the words right. He’d always thought that he would have more time. They’d survived the surety of death time and time again. He’d been foolish to let himself believe that in the end it would all work out. Bruce had contingency plans for everything. He didn’t have one for this. He felt unmoored and not for the first time in his life, he felt lost. Before, Clark had always been there to guide him back. He’d always had his back, been there to reassure him that he was making the right decision. Even if that meant questioning and disagreeing with every decision he made. But he wasn’t there anymore. It was just him, alone on the tower that they’d built. Alone even as he was surrounded by the league that they’d created. Alone because he'd failed, he'd failed to solve that one problem, failed to save Clark. But mostly, he'd failed himself.

He pushed to his feet. Suddenly tired. He set the monitors to alert him to any changes, Vic would be back in an hour to replace him. The system could manage in the time being.

The cave was empty when he got back. The kids had finished their patrols, he could see the reports waiting to be read and added to the mainframe when he walked by the console. He knew he should stop and review them, it would only mean more work the next day, but for once he just wanted to go to bed. Tim would file them for him when he saw them the next day. He'd let him know if there was anything important. He’d gone with Dick and Barbara in the morning. Dick had been the most understanding about why he wasn't going with them. Dick knew him better than the rest, knew his heart, even when it was walled up and boxed away. Maybe especially when he tried to hide it away.

He changed, replacing the suit with a loose shirt and flannel pants to combat the chill of the cave and the long winter they were having. He toyed with the hole in the sleeve as he walked up the stairs. Alfred hadn’t said anything about the Smallville High shirt that had somehow made it into his laundry a few years ago. There was no question the man knew it was there, Bruce didn't pretend to think he could keep anything from the man that had raised him. Alfred would ask after ‘Master Kent’ on days when he’d fallen asleep in the shirt. Those days had been few and far between. The days when he sought out the worn cotton were the days when he had been sure that he had been going to lose the Kryptonian. The days when he had wanted to pull him in and hold him until he was sure that he was safe. He couldn't let himself do that, so on those days he wrapped himself in the Kansas comfort and pretended.

He checked on the others in the manor as he made his way to his room. They were all sound asleep. Tim tossed and turned in his sleep. He brushed his hair away as he watched him settle back deeper into sleep. The pain of his son's loss had been so fresh. He knew that pain and kept an eye on him. He backed out of his son's room once he was sure that he was sleeping peacefully.

A thunderstorm was brewing in the distance. He'd tasted in the air on his way to the cave. He could see the clouds growing, devouring the moonlight. He pulled his curtains shut and climbed into bed. He stared at nothing and between one blink and the next he was asleep.

-

He woke with a gasp and a name on his lips. He rubbed his face and sighed. Before he could lay back down a lightning strike filled the room with light. There was a figure was standing in the door to the balcony. He could hear the faint beeping of the alarm beside his bed as the thunder sounded. It must have been what woke him. He watched the figure until his eyes adjusted.

It wasn't possible.

His mind immediately started a list of possible answers, of people who had worn the Superman’s face before. The things that they'd seen. The horrors that could await them if he didn't stop this now. He rose in a defensive stance. He knew if this thing had even a fraction of the man's strength he wouldn't stand a chance, but he would not give in.

“Bruce, no it's okay.” The man, the impossible man, raised his arms in a show of submission. “I heard you call me. I had to come.”

The last time he'd seen Clark he'd been dying. Lightning struck again, and he realized that the man wasn't in his suit, but stood before him in a pair of pajama pants and a jacket, hanging open over his bare chest like he'd been pulled from sleep and had barely spared clothing a thought. He looked so much like Clark, sounded like him. His eyes looked at him the same way.

“You died,” he whispered and shook his head. “You're dead.” He closed his eyes against the pain.

“I am not your Superman,” the man said. “Just like you are not _my_ Bruce.” He looked up at that. He could count on a single hand how many times he'd heard Clark sound so lost. The man was staring at the logo on his chest. There was no curiosity in his eyes, just a somber hue to them.

“Not mine? Alternate reality?” he asked. He wanted to deny it, but he had witnessed other worlds, fought versions of himself. He knew it was possible, and part of him desperately wanted this to be Clark, any version of him would be better than this world without him in it. He lowered himself to the bed.

“Yes,” Clark said with a nod, his hands lowering slowly.

“How long?” he asked. “How long have you been here?”

“Only a few weeks,” he answered. He tried to think of how many league battles had happened in that time. How many times they'd needed Clark. How many times he'd looked over to his chair at the table, still empty, and wished for someone to fill it.

“Why now?”

“I told you. I heard you call. We were,” he hesitated, “Friends on my world. I couldn't ignore your voice.” He knew that Clark had always been tuned in to Lois, even after they broke up, but he'd never said that he listened for anyone else.

“Diana,” he breathed. Clark looked startled. “I have to tell her.”

“Bruce…”

“I know what you are going to say. You're not our Superman. It looks like you've been hiding for the weeks you've been here on that farm. Living a normal life.” He closed his eyes as another strike flared. “If you're anything like our Clark it won't be long before you have to help. She deserves to know before that time comes.”

-

Diana had not believed him. The last time they'd spoken she had told him that she was moving on. He'd had to focus to stay calm. Clark, the man she had loved, had died in her arms, and she was moving on, before he'd even been buried. He was not like her. His parents had been dead for decades and he still carried the pain from it with him as if it had happened days ago. He didn't know how she could let him go. She'd agreed to come to the manor though when he'd asked her to. He knew that it was more out of concern for him than any belief that she might have that what he was saying was true.

Clark was watching him from the recliner in the corner of the room. He'd been watching him since he'd first spoken. He knew they had time before Diana would get there. Time to get one question answered before he couldn't bring himself to ask. He went to his bureau and pulled out a different shirt.

“I died, didn't I? Your version of me.” He pulled off the Smallville shirt and traded it with the plain black one. He looked over. He knew that look. He knew that it had been on his own face when he'd first seen Clark. He folded the shirt carefully, smoothing the edges before setting it in the drawer. Alfred would move it back down to the cave later.

_They all had._

When Clark was younger, after his father died, he remembered his mom talking to the police. She was so shocked still, having seen her husband ripped away just hours before. She had just stared at the wall, holding a mug of black coffee as she told them over and over that it was as if he had been “-wiped off the face of the earth.” Clark was naive then. He didn't know what he was or where he’d come from. Maybe if he had, then that phrase wouldn't have held such gravity. Bruce told him that when his parents died it felt like someone had shut the lights off. That everything got dark and harder to move around in. Clark asked him how he got through it.

“ _I didn't,_ ” he’d said. “ _I just learned how to live with it_.”

So Clark tried to live with it. He got stronger and faster and tried to live with the fact that he could have saved his father if he had just pushed himself further, sooner. And when it got hard, Bruce told him to suck it up and push again. Until it hurt and all he wanted to do was give up. And when they couldn't move any further, they started all over again.

Bruce was always so sure that Clark was made for something bigger.  That him being on earth couldn't be for nothing. But Bruce, his mother, the League- Clark's entire world had been wiped out of existence and he hasn't been able to do _anything_. It didn't matter that he was made for something bigger. His world was gone, the earth was gone- and the only thing he got from being different was that instead of being wiped off the face of the earth, everything was wiped away from him.

It hurt to look at Bruce, to be here in a place that he knew so well and yet not at all, knowing that he was the last thing he’d want to see. He knew that the Superman of this world was not the same as he was. That this Bruce was not the one that was taken from him. It almost made it harder knowing that everything they were really was just… gone. But Clark could see in the way that Bruce regarded him - the careful way that he folded his shirt, caressing each crease into the fabric - that even if there were not romantic feelings between them, the Clark of this world had made his own dent on Bruce Wayne.

“My earth no longer exists,” Clark replied, unable to answer the actual question Bruce asked. “It hasn't for what seems like a very long time.”

Bruce watched him carefully from the other side of the room, not giving an inch in either direction from the moment he'd gotten there. “What happened?”

He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “There was a weapon created after I became…” he waved his hand and Bruce nodded understanding. “It was made to kill me.”

He remembered the green light burning over the horizon through the window just behind Bruce, fresh out of the shower as he stopped next to the bed.  “ _What is it?”_ He'd asked him, tension holding his shoulders higher as the explosion echoed in his ears, the deep cracking sound of the the earth beneath the surface breaking apart.

Clark just kissed him, kissed him hard and fast as the green light got closer and closer. “ _I'm sorry_.” he'd whispered over and over, “ _I am so sorry._ ” And he was just gone.

“It didn't work.” It wasn't a question. Clark shook his head and Alfred knocked on the door, drawing both of their attention.

“Ms. Prince is here for you sirs,” he told them soberly, sparing a sad glance towards Clark that hit him hard in the chest. “In the entry.”

Clark followed Bruce out of his study, watching his back as they went. The shirt he had put on was tight across his shoulders, displaying the sculpt of his body all the way down to the edge of his pants. It was always such a tease, the perfect facade of Bruce Wayne, dressed up in his suits and carefully placed hair as he addressed the world as the ideal man. But that was his real mask. When you took all of the away and got down to all of the scars and the pain- you saw that he was never really Bruce Wayne. Bruce _was_ Batman. At his core and in his heart. And as much as Clark had fallen in love with the angry, rich boy whose car broke down just outside his farmhouse in Kansas- he fell harder for the man he had turned into. The one that preferred the shadows to the limelight. With or without the mask. Dressed up and dressed down. A man made of his scars.

He dropped his gaze as they moved through the hallways, reminding himself once again that this was not his world, no matter how much it looked like it. He had intended on staying hidden away at the farm for as long as he could before he was called into play, knowing that eventually this world would need him. But he also knew that the best way he could help would be to let them grieve for at least a while longer. Give them time before they thought to build a weapon that would destroy him too.

Diana was pacing in the entryway when they broke out of the dark hallway, shaking her head as though she was talking to herself as she made tracks to the door and back. She didn't even notice them until Bruce started down the stairs. She stopped walking, keeping her eyes on Bruce as she took a hard and deep breath and let her eyes travel upwards to where he was standing. So many emotions flashed through her eyes before they started to water and she was up the stairs, holding him hard enough to break a normal man. “Are you real?” She whispered.

He swallowed hard, forcing his arms to stay down though the wanted to automatically return the hug. He didn't know that the last time he saw his Diana would be the last time. They had been bickering about something stupid, an argument he thought they would have time to settle. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently back from him, the pure devastation on her face enough to make him cringe. “I'm sorry.” He told her. “I'm not who you think I am. I am Clark Kent, but I'm…” he glanced at Bruce and back, “Your Clark is dead. I'm sorry.”

It took her a moment to compose herself, closing her eyes and clenching her fists until her knuckles were white and shaking. Clark didn't touch her. He knew that could just make things worse and that if he had any hope of working with them one day, he would have to set himself apart from who they once knew. There was a tension in the entry that could not be broken until Alfred appeared again at the bottom of the staircase, hands tucked behind his back completely unfazed. “Tea has been served in the drawing room Master Bruce.” He said.

“Thank you Alfred.” He nodded after a moment and looked back to Diana who was still watching Clark but in a more careful way.

They walked in a painfully slow line into the drawing room where two tea cups had been set in front of the couch on the oval oak coffee table that served as a varied between two chairs. He sank into a chair and let the other two settle onto the sofa unable to stop thinking about the last time he had been on that sofa and how much less dressed Bruce had been. Alfred did not let him dwell on that though, appearing at his side again with a tray holding a single mug of dark coffee. “I trust you still take it black?” he asked kindly. Clark’s throat was too tight for him to speak so he nodded his thanks and concentrated on not holding the mug hard enough to break it.

Diana was the first to break the silence. “How is this possible?” She asked, looking nowhere but Clark though he was positive the only person who would have that answer was sitting next to her.

“He's from a different timeline. An alternate reality.” Bruce answered.

“A different earth.” Clark explained. “It no longer exists.”

“A different earth…” Diana repeated, rolling it in her cheek. “And now you are here. Why?”

Clark nodded, staring at his coffee. “You no longer have a Superman. I no longer have a home.” He said simply. “And despite everything that has happened, I survived the death of my world. Bruce,” he stopped to swallow at the name, hardly able to look up at them. “My Bruce,” he amended, “told me that I was meant for something important. I have to believe that my world is gone for a reason. That I am here for a reason…” he couldn't continue. He set his coffee down and pulled the jacket he'd haphazardly thrown on in his rush to get here tighter around him. He needed to leave. Now while he could, before he broke down. “I won't interfere unless I'm needed,” he promised. “I've been staying at the farm. If you need me.” He added as he headed back toward the entrance and nodded to Alfred when he opened the door for him. A quick squeeze of his shoulder as he passed was all it took for him to dart into the sky and lose himself to the breathlessness of the thinning atmosphere where he could almost pretend that he really was home.

\---

There were days when he wanted to call Clark's name just to see his face, but he didn't. He knew it wouldn't be fair to the man who had lost his entire world.

Clark, his Clark, had never been able to relax. He knew the man felt that he always had to be ready, always alert, always there for anyone in need. He'd seen the strain it had caused. He knew the guilt he carried when he wasn't able to get there in time. He knew that the man deserved this break. He deserved the time to mourn and the time to get to know this world. It wouldn't be long before they would need his help, but Bruce could give him the time.

-

He had made a mistake. He'd known it from the moment he'd stepped out with Robin at his side. The boy was sad, and was desperately trying to cover it with anger. He could see shades of Jason in his partner as Tim ran across the rooftops across from him. Jason had hidden everything beneath anger. He did it even more now. Robin leapt down from the ledge, catching himself inches from the ground. His heart skipped a beat before he jumped after him. Tim was rushing. Bruce had been too late the last time a Robin had rushed ahead, he wouldn't let it happen again. Breaking up the powwow of D-list villains wasn't hard, he made sure to keep one eye on Robin the entire time. Bruce got sprayed in the face with something sweet and cursed when he sight lost his partner. He punched the man wielding the spray bottle, and smirked as he fell with a dazed expression painted on his face. There was a crash. He raced up the stairs to the office and the suspended catwalk.

“Get off me,” a man yelped. “What are you-” with a pop and a whir the window of the warehouse burst. Bruce  stopped running and stared as the kite flew through the window, an all too familiar red and black clad figure hanging from it.

“Robin!” he shouted. Kiteman looked horrified as he stared after the boy who was flying away with one of his kites. It looked like he was fiddling around with rockets, Robin must have accidentally set it off. The man turned and told him exactly that before apologizing profusely as he ran down the stairs.

“Robin, sitrep.” He cursed and leapt to the ground, running through the warehouse until he could follow him as he soared too high above Gotham. “Robin, answer me.”

“Batman,” Robin gurgled. He let out a shaky breath, but it was gone when the rocket cut off. “Help,” Robin whispered. He watched as the kite suddenly plummeted.

“Robin!” he shouted again, he ran, but there was nothing he could do but watch as the boy tumbled through the night sky. A building blocked his view as he turned a corner. The kite was gone. “Robin, please,” he called. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't have lost another one.

“I'm okay!” came a hurried response. “Superman caught me.” Bruce stopped and turned when he heard double. Tim was beaming from where Clark was holding him, tucked tightly against his chest. Tim had always been small, nearing adulthood hadn't helped as much as he knew Tim had hoped, but he looked even smaller against the man's chest. It left him wanting to grab his boy from his arms and hold him close.

“What were you thinking?” he growled when Robin's boots touched the ground. The boy at least had the decency to look chagrined.

“I didn't do it on purpose,” Tim snapped. He was shocked by the reaction for a second.  “He was getting away. The rocket went off and my sleeve got caught.” Tim pulled at his torn sleeve to emphasize his point. He grabbed his arm, a lot softer than he was used to doing in the suit, and looked at the deep gash in his arm.

“You need stitches,” he told Tim. He looked over the boy's head to where Superman was hovering a few feet away. He wrapped a strip of gauze around Robin's arm. His suit was different. Black and silver instead of the blue and red. The idea that it looked like he was in mourning passed through Bruce's head before Tim hissed a wince and his thoughts were back on the boy in front of him.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. Tim stared at him like he'd grown a second head. He pushed the boy forward as he summoned the car.

“Wait. Who is that?” Tim asked as he slid into the car.

“It's Superman,” he answered meeting the man's eyes. He hoped that he could see the apology in them.

-

“So Superman just flying around? Not dead.” Tim asked. He nodded. Tim had spent the entire drive back to the cave asking questions. “And you thanked him.” Tim leaned down to look him in the eye. Bruce tugged his arm back up so he could finish the stitches. “No, _get out_ . No, _no metas in Gotham_. You actually acknowledged and thanked him.” Tim stretched when he let his arm go and winced at the tug of the stitches in his skin. “Maybe this is heaven,” Tim mused. He laughed half-heartedly for a moment then froze.

“If he lived… Do you think that-” Tim bit his lip and looked up at him, that sorrow he'd been trying to hide for the last few months rushing to the surface.

“He didn't say,” he hedged. Tim looked near tears, he didn't want to push. “I can ask,” he added as Tim gripped the edges of his cape and tried to reign his emotions in. “Alfred said he was making some eclairs today. Why don't you go up and see if they're ready?” he knew that Tim was well past the age that the promise of sweets solved any problem, but he went anyway. Bruce didn't know what to do. He knew that Tim was hurting. His best friend had just died. He knew that pain all to well, but didn't know how to make it hurt any less. He could see Tim pulling away from everyone. He hadn't left his room except for patrol and school in weeks. This was the most he'd heard him talk since, Dick was the only one that really managed to pull any words from him.

He got changed and wrote up the report, Kiteman had stayed, sitting next to the other villains. He was impressed that the man hadn't tried to run. Probably knew the pain that was awaiting him after he almost killed Robin.

“The codes are all the same,” Clark said, sounding too amazed. Bruce looked at him, the black suit blending easily into the shadows of the cave. It was jarring. Superman had always looked out of place in the cave, too bright, too full of hope, but this Clark looked at home here. “I wasn't sure. I don't know this Robin, I thought there was more different than I'd originally thought.”

He looked at the man, wondered for a moment if he should keep Tim's identity a secret, but it didn't seem worth the hassle. “Tim Drake. He's the third Robin.” Clark's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't been expecting that.

“Third?” he watched pain flash in his eyes. “Dick?” the man whispered, like it would be the last thing that would break him.

“What about him?” he asked. There was confusion, then an odd happiness. It was strange seeing the emotions flit easily across his face. Even in moments when Clark let down his guard and let himself react truly he still held back, still metered his responses.

“He's Robin.”

“He was. Goes by Nightwing now. He watches over Bludhaven.” Clark frowned, like half of the sentence made sense, but the rest confused him. “What is that look for?” he asked, tired of trying to decipher it.

“Dick was your only Robin. He did take up Nightwing, but he never left Gotham. Why would he go to Bludhaven of all places?” Clark asked, mostly it seemed to himself.

“We had a falling out,” he muttered and turned back to the screen. Clark didn't seem to care, he just walked over and sat on the desk to his side. He looked at ease there, in another world he'd sat there a million times before. Bruce's attention was drawn to him.

“You wanted him to know he could have a normal life and could go to college, but you were terrible at it and he thought you were firing him.” He raised an eyebrow. “Guess that didn't change,” Clark said with a ghost of a smile. “Did you run off the second one too?”

“No,” he said eyes on the screen. “The Joker killed him.”

“Bruce,” he let his eyes move to Clark.

“He's alive now. He doesn't talk to me, but if there are any league calls in Gotham you'll meet Jason. Even if he hates me he still protects the city.”

“Tell me about your league?” Clark asked, thankfully not pressing the subject. He talked, focusing on the people that he knew Clark worked closest with and the ones that he had the most personal relationships with.

-

Bruce went over the entire line up for him, surprisingly patient seeing as he was still typing up the report for his night. Bruce never did that, usually he would just pretend he wasn't listening as Clark went on about whatever he could to annoy him. But Clark knew that he liked the company. On the worst nights, that he _needed_ it. Clark watched him. In a way that he knew that he shouldn't, eyes trying to pry him open and see who this world had made him. He was almost desperate to see the differences so that he could remind himself that his Bruce was gone. But _he_ looked like Bruce. And _he_ talked like Bruce. _He_ sounded the exact same, and Clark knew that if he closed his eyes that he would be in danger of leaning in and seeing if he smelled like him to.

“And then there is Diana, of course.” Bruce sighed, words sounding impossibly heavy as they fell out of him. “Our Clark was closest with her. They were,” he cleared his throat, hands pausing on the keyboard, “together when he died.” He said the last part in a way that was meant to be off-handed but Clark heard the waver in his voice when he mentioned his counterpart’s fate.

“She saw?” Clark asked, heart hurting as he thought about what Diana would have been doing when the world left him behind. He tried not to think about it, about how they all would have thought about him, wondering if Superman would be able to save them.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded but then he shook his head. “Yes she was there, but I mean our Clark and Diana were a couple.”

He blinked, shock hitting him hard and without meaning to he laughed. Bruce was less than amused and Clark waved a hand as a peace offering. “No. I'm so sorry, it's just-" he choked out one more laugh and clamped it down. “I laugh when I'm surprised.” He explained in apology, “It's a really horrible-"

“Nervous reaction. Yes, I know.” Bruce nodded looking completely unbothered if not for the white knuckles that were balled into his lap.

Clark cleared his throat nodding. “I was never with Diana,” he explained pushing past it.

“Lois then?” Bruce asked leaning back.

Clark laughed again, “Lois Lane?” Bruce nodded. “God no. She's an impossible person. Intelligent and beautiful and very fun, yes- but we have only ever been friends… or only ever were.” He sighed his heart heavy. “I um… we never dated.”

Bruce leaned forward again. “You never thought about it?”

He shook his head. “I only ever had one girlfriend,” he admitted.

“What happened with her?”

And his throat was thick. He looked into those earnest, intense, blue eyes and he wanted to tell him everything even though he wasn't sure if he should. “Bruce, my Bruce, didn't like her,” he finally said, not having it in him to lie about it. “She didn't like him much either. They fought all of the time. He even crashed my prom to make sure things ‘didn't go too far.’” He laughed again but it felt hollow.

Bruce didn't understand. He shook his head, “We met...prom?”

Clark swallowed, taking a moment to get his emotions in check. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. “Bruce and I met when I was eight,” he told him, allowing this Bruce some time to take that in. “He spent summers on the farm with my family, I had holidays in Gotham. We talked on the phone almost every night for most of my life. He was there when my Pa died, and taught me how to drive. He was always there.” He cleared his throat. “He was my best friend.” He looked away from Bruce as he added, “We, he and I, were together when it all…” he couldn't say it. “I never wanted to be with Diana or Lois. I had Bruce.”

_I had Bruce._

There was a chance that he was misunderstanding. Clark had said they were best friends, he'd said that they'd grown up together, but something about the way he'd smiled to himself when he'd said they had been together and the fond expression when he'd looked up at him after had Bruce believing. In _his_ world they were dating, they were in love. Clark loved Bruce. He'd seen worlds where they were evil, where he'd never been Batman, where nothing at all seemed different but where everything just felt wrong, and yet in none of those worlds had Clark ever loved him. Though, Bruce suspected in all of them he had loved Clark. It felt impossible not to. Clark was looking at him, he had been quiet for too long.

"H-how did you meet?” he asked, hating the hesitation in his voice. Clark smiled softly at him.

“Alfred had been on a mission to get him out of the manor, to get him to smile. They drove across the country and their car broke down in front of my house.” He watched Clark laugh to himself. “I asked if he wanted to play. We ended up playing baseball, he'd clearly never played. I threw the ball and he just stood there frowning at me while the ball soared past him.” Clark made a zooming noise and moved his hand past his head. He looked happy to be able to tell the story, like it was a story he didn’t get to tell often, but held it dear. Bruce remembered the drive. He didn't think he had ever left Gotham before. If he had, he'd been too young to remember. Alfred had worried for miles when the car started behaving oddly. The better part of the morning was spent with him in the back seat staring out at the cornfields while Alfred worked on the car. Bruce didn't remember meeting anyone that day, definitely didn't remember Clark. “I poked fun. He didn't like it- and all of a sudden we were fighting. Pa would have had my hide if I'd hurt him, but it didn't matter. Before I'd even touched him he'd flipped me over his head like it was nothing. Then he smiled.” He turned back to the computer at Clark's sad smile. “We were friends from that day on.”

They had fought from their first meeting until the end. Each of them with different views of the world that just didn't mesh. Things had changed though, trust and respect grew between them, but over hard fought years and battles side by side. Clark had known him better than most, and still had known so little.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ramble,” Clark said. Bruce hummed without looking up. His Clark would be complaining about his manners as the silence stretched between them. But the man still sitting on his desk didn't seem to mind. His eyes flitted around the cave, but always came back to him. He knew that he wasn't seeing him, but the man he'd clearly loved instead. For years he had wanted Clark to look at him like that, but knowing that that love wasn't for him left him feeling hollow.

“Can I ask you something?” Clark said. His voice had changed, growing serious. “Did you love your Clark?” His voice was gentle, yet somehow it didn't leave him wanting to rage against the kindness, instead it just left him feeling torn open.

“Yes,” Bruce breathed. He'd never admitted it out loud, never let that truth out into the universe. Instead he'd held it in, held it close, kept it safe. His hands were shaking as they hung above the keyboard. He was shaking. He curled his fingers into fists. Tried to turn his pain into anger, but fingers that he'd seen tear through enemy tanks like tissue paper wrapped around his and he couldn't. “I never-” he ground out, looking up at him. “I thought I had more time.”

“I'm sorry,” Clark said. He blinked up at him and carefully pulled his hand away. He watched as Clark's eyes shuttered.

“It wasn't your fault.” He stood. “Maybe if things were different then I'd have spoken up. But they weren't. He's Superman and I'm-” he looked out over the cave, the shadows and darkness, and all he could think of was how much Clark had stood out, stood apart when he was there, how much he belonged in the sunlight and not down here stuck in the shadows.

Clark watched him, ill at ease with his loss for words. Bruce rarely knew what to say and when he should say it, but when he spoke he never lost his words. “Batman.” Bruce blinked at him, reacting as though Clark had called his name. “He was Superman, you are Batman.” He finished the sentence for him. “On my world, we were partners. In everything.” He resisted the urge to reach out to him, instead floating off the desk as he said, “There was a contrast, sure. But it was our differences that made us work, not our similarities.”

When Bruce stayed quiet, Clark knew that he had overstayed his welcome. He hadn't meant to come at all, but he couldn't resist. It was the same place, and if he could have seen Dick- he didn't finish that thought. “I should get going,” he said softly, letting his hand trace Bruce's shoulder as he passed, unable not to. “If you need anything, call,” he told him and then he was off again, blending in with the night sky.

-

Martha was still awake when he got back to the farm. He slipped the key she had given him easily into the door to let himself in. When he’d found this world, he hadn't known where to go. He knew where he wanted to be, at home in the manor with Bruce and Dick- but he also knew that it would be incredibly selfish to let himself have that. He’d ended up on the farm before he had a chance to think about it, the soft light of the kitchen shining out into the cornfield, watching his mother grieve for this world's son.

Clark knew that it wasn't fair of him to have come to her. He knew that he should have left, found a new home where no one knew his name. But he still came to her. And apologized to her, again and again until she hugged him and asked if he'd like to stay.  

She was stitching up a pair of his pants, watching a late round of the news. There was a stream from Gotham, a kite flying into the sky and a dark streak catching Robin as he fell towards the ground. They didn't seem to think twice about it being Superman, but it still made his heart thump in dread. Martha looked back at him, a smile full of love warming his cold bones.

“Sit with me.” She patted the couch next to her and Clark obeyed, still dressed in his suit, moist from the altitude that he had been flying at. They watched the news quietly, Martha making careful stitches into the seam of his jeans as the reporter made speculations about what the dark streak could be. Was there a new super? A new kind of meta human roaming the Gotham skies? “They are going to find out about you soon, you know,” she said softly, pulling the string. “We should start thinking about what to tell people.”

He knew that she was right, but it still didn't feel right. Clark wanted to tell them all the truth, but he was positive that the idea if a multiverse could be the undoing of everyday life. He didn't want to be tested. He didn't want to be locked up out of fear. He didn't want to cause any more trouble than he already had by simply existing.

“I'm not ready,” he said softly, “I know that I need to be. But I'm not”

Martha didn't look up, but she didn't need to. “We will soon be past the point where that’s an option,” she told him, her voice stern but motherly. “You came to our world for a reason. And I know it wasn't just to ease my pain.” She gave him a sad smile and cupped his face in her hand.

“I will leave, whenever you want,” he offered again, hating to hurt her. She was so much like his own mother. Exactly her, but not.

“I want you to stay,” she said pinching him. “Forever,” she added cheekily and picked her sewing back up. “So do me a favor and be prepared for what is coming.”

-

He tried not to listen to them. The pleas, the screaming and begging for help. The places he could so easily reach if it were not daylight where people could see him. So he focused on the farm. He helped Martha with the crops and maintenance. He did not watch the news, knowing that all he would see when he did was regret.

But they came everyday. “Superman save us!” “Where is Superman?” “He can't really be dead, not now.” “If Superman were here, we would be fine!” “He could stop this!” “He’d fly in and just-" “Superman would-" “Superman can-" “Superman-" “Superman?” “Superman!”-- All day.

Clark sat with his palms pressed into ears against the side of the barn, breathing hard against the numbing sound of pleading voices. He couldn't do this. He couldn't just sit here and wait for when he was really needed. His entire body ached with the desire to throw himself into space so far that he could no longer hear any of it. He might have, if it wasn't for the last cry, the smallest one. A little girl all alone on the floor of a building that was about to break.

He couldn't not go, flinging himself into the air where he ripped away the evidence of Clark Kent and let the sun fuel him to go faster. There was a fire ripping through an apartment building in Metropolis, the top floor just about ready to collapse. The little girl was in the back corner blocked off from all windows, but he didn't need them. He smashed through the weakest wall he could find, a small scream pulling his eyes back to their normal state and he saw both hope and fear staring back at him as a small blonde girl looked up at him. He kneeled down, holding his hand out. “I won't hurt you,” he promised. “I'm Superman.” She looked at his black uniform doubtfully, but when the ground cracked around her she shrieked and jumped into his arms.

He brought her easily down to the ground, a small crowd forming around them including cameras and reporters. Clark ignored them, turning back to the fire to examine the building. “The right side floor is about to collapse.” He directed, “there are three people inside,” and he was off again pulling them out as the fire started to dim.

There were twenty six people in total, twenty six people that he pulled out of the building and twenty six calls that were answered. No fatalities. He left as soon as they were on the ground, blowing one quick and hard gust of air that dulled the flames enough to keep them manageable. He ran. He knew he should stay, he should do more to help. But what had happened there was bigger than it seemed and he had to be ready for the storm that was coming.

-

He could hear the jet encroaching the farm when he touched the ground and he waited out front. He didn't want to bring Martha into this. She had been more than kind, and he wouldn't let her home be destroyed for him. Clark watched the plane land, his hands raised in surrender as the cargo door opened and two green lanterns he didn't recognise came out of the back flanked by Barry. At least it was still Barry.

He approached slowly, the woman lantern shielding him with her ring. They stopped just a few feet in front of Clark, Barry’s eyes looking at him with a need for him to be real. “Who are you?” he asked softly, not knowing whether he should be hopeful or angry.

“It's a long story,” Clark swallowed on the lump building in his throat. “I'll come quietly.”He held out his wrists. They all exchanged looks before the male lantern finally stepped forward with the kryptonite shackles and helped him onto the plane.

\---

Diana's text only said ‘Watchtower now’. He stood up and looked to Lucius.

“I'm sorry. I have to take this.”

“Don’t worry. I know that look. Call me when you are finished and I'll get you caught up.”

He walked into the conference room on the Watchtower to a shouting match. He didn't know what had happened but whatever it was the entire league had an opinion on it. Barry saw him, but before he could say anything Diana was pulling him back out of the room.

“They know. He saved an apartment complex it was on the news.” Her voice sounded grave. They had not talked about what they were going to tell the league. He knew that they should have made a plan on that first night that they were all three together, but they hadn't and they were going to regret that oversight.

“He's here?” Diana nodded. He looked back into the room.

“Superman is not dead,” he stated as he walked back into the room. The din of noise went silent as he walked around to the head of the table, Diana a step behind him.

“That is not possible, we all saw his-”

“He was gravely injured. I believed that he had-” Diana looked to him. She was backing him up on this, but was having trouble.

“He came back different, but he is still Superman.”

“You've been lying to us for months?” Bruce looked to Diana. She was frowning at the people gathered at the table.

“That was my decision.” The entire room erupted in angry accusations. He stepped out as someone yelled that he had no right. He took a deep breath. He could handle this, they could hate him. He could take their anger and keep it from Superman. They would get over the deceit eventually.

He walked down to the only room on the Tower where they would have kept an imposter Superman. Clark was sitting in the middle of the room on a small metal chair. Everything was sepia toned red. Clark looked up at him. The low level red sun radiation would be enough to sap his strength and some of his other more dangerous abilities, but not much else. He flipped the switch anyway. Clark breathed deeply as Bruce stepped into the room and shut the door.

“I'm sorry,” he admitted. “I told them that-”

“I heard. Not much else to listen to up here,” Clark smiled. “You didn't have to take the blame. You could have told them the truth.”

“I did. You are Superman.”

“I may be, but I am not their Superman. If they find out…”

“They will not.” Clark looked up at him, something he thought he recognized flashing in his eyes.

“Yes sir,” Clark replied with a smirk. Bruce blinked at the man whose smile only grew. “You're cute when you're flustered. Did you know that?”

“Kal.” Diana walked in the room. He didn't think he'd ever been so glad to see her. She looked between them. Her eyes were sharp. He knew that she'd heard what Clark had said. He couldn't stop the guilt that rose in him. It was familiar. He had felt guilty for months, watching his friends’ relationship grow while harboring feelings for Clark. This didn't feel any different. She had no claim over this Superman, but he could not help the sour feeling in his stomach.

“Diana,” Clark said. He seemed to settle back into the version of himself he wore around anyone except for him. Clark looked over to him, a duck of his head the only apology offered. “Have they decided if I need to be dissected?” Bruce looked to Diana in horror for a moment before realizing Clark was joking.

“They have accepted Bruce's explanation.” She looked over to him. “They are angry.”

He nodded.

“You could tell them the truth,” Clark pointed out again. Diana's eyes flicked back to Clark. He could tell that she was considering his words, but after a moment she shook her head.

“No. I do not think that would be wise. They are hurt, but they are glad that you are back. I do not believe now is the time for truth. So many of us are still grieving. It would be difficult to be around you and be reminded that you are _not_ _our_ Superman,” she directed the last at Bruce as a reminder. “I scheduled an official meeting in a few hours. They'll have questions. You should work out your answers.” She left them with one last look at Bruce.

“I don't think she trusts me,” Clark commented.

“It is not you that she doesn't trust.” Clark looked up from where he'd been staring after Diana. “We should go over what we are going to tell the others.”

They went over every little detail that they could. They kept as much of the truth as possible. Clark had been spending the time after his death with his mother. He had been taking time to get his head on straight, to adjust. They went over the logistics of how Clark could have survived. Clark's voice was soft as he talked about the injuries and the damage.

“No one will look that far,” Clark insisted.

“You cannot know that,” Bruce snapped.

“I am not-” Clark stopped. His head went to the door. It looked like he had stopped breathing.

“Clark?” he asked. Clark jumped to his feet. He took a hesitant step before he was running down the hall, actually running. The man could break the speed barrier flying, but he could hear the pounding steps on the Watchtower floor. He followed after. He heard the laugh echoing down the hall. Clark turned the corner and froze. He barely kept himself from running into the man. Dick was standing with Wally. Donna stepped through the portal. Clark made a noise like a sob and all three of their eyes turned to him. Dick's widened for a moment behind his mask before they narrowed on Bruce.

“Clark?”

Clark blinked feeling lightheaded and completely devastated as Dick took a small step towards him, unaware that he alone had to power to completely shatter him. He looked exactly like him. Not that Clark should have been surprised, everyone _looked_ the same. It was the way that they acted that distinguished them, the veil of sorrow and pain that hung over this universe and its players was like a fog that couldn’t be lifted. Everyone had small things that were not the same, the way they stood. The set of their eyes. Their heart beats just a second off- except for Bruce. And except for Dick.

He looked older than Clark remembered him being when the big bang took him away. His hair was longer and his shoulders were wider, but other than that he looked exactly the same. But he’d always been that way. Since he was a kid, he had the same smile, the same way about him that you couldn’t help but immediately fall in love with. He hadn’t been smiling the first time that he met Clark, his parents having just been murdered and just having been begrudgingly released to Bruce and Clark’s care. He had been so scared. But Clark had loved watching him come out of his shell, watching him bring a light out in Bruce that he had never seen before. Dick was always the one who brought out the best and worst in him, his fears and his hopes, but mostly Bruce had loved Dick more than anything. So had Clark.

Dick wasn’t smiling now. He was staring at Clark like he’d seen a ghost. Wally put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back but he brushed it off and pushed closer until his hands were on Clark's shoulders.

“Is it really you?” he asked. His eyes were blocked by his mask, but Clark knew what they would look like and he couldn’t bear it. He opened his mouth but his throat was tight and all he could do was nod. Dick pulled him into a crushing hug and Clark struggled to keep his emotions in check as he held him. He gave himself one minute. One minute to close his eyes and feel him. Take in the smell of him and mourn the loss of his son before he put himself back together and released him. Dick was smiling now and it was almost harder to keep it together in the face of that joy. “I can’t believe it. When they told the Titans to meet at the tower I thought… we didn’t…” he frowned again and this time he turned to Bruce. “What happened?”

The door to the conference room opened and Martian Manhunter nodded to them, pleased to see that they had all gathered. “Good, you are all here. Please come in so we can begin.”

Dick gave Clark’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he jogged to catch up with Wally and Donna, leaving Clark in the hallway with Bruce. He stepped up next him, fixing him with his cowled gaze, “Are you alright?” he asked soft enough that only Clark could hear it.

He let out a laugh not sure how to answer him, he had just seen his son for the first time in two years, only in this world Dick wasn’t his son. He didn’t know how to feel. “No,” he said finally and they walked together into the now crowded conference room.

J’onn stood at the head of the room waiting as the chatter died down around him, eyes going back and forward from him to Clark. “We have been given a gift today,” he said finally and the room settled down. “A good friend has been returned to us and a beacon of hope has come back to this world.” There was a mutter and Clark let his eyes drop to the floor. He knew that he was the beacon that he was referring to, but if they knew what had happened to his world they wouldn’t feel that way. “Regardless of how it came about, I believe that it is important for us to keep this in mind moving forward. This is not a gift that is granted every day.

“That being said, we also need to form a plan moving forward.” Clark glanced up as he continued. “I…” he hesitated and looked toward Clark again. “I think it unwise to let Superman go unsupervised seeing as we do not understand the extent of his memory loss.”

“Memory loss?” Dick asked.

“Batman has told us that Superman came back different.” J’onn supplied giving Clark plenty of time to stare openly at Dick as he continued. “And before we send him out into the world I think it would be best to release him into the care of someone who has the capability to contain him if need be.”

“You want me to take him,” Bruce said, his voice was flat and hard, obviously displeased. Clark’s heart thumped in his chest and he focused on the ground once more, telling himself again that he was not the man he had left in his world. He wouldn’t be staying with him like that. He would have his own room at a different part of the house and everything would be purely professional-- and absolutely miserable. But it wasn’t his choice. Clark had come to this world uninvited and now he had to play by whatever rules they laid down for him. But he could feel the tension radiating off Bruce in waves of heat and frustration. He could see the furrow in his covered brow without having to look at him. He knew what his face looked like. He knew what was going through his head. Clark knew that he didn’t want to do this, and it crushed him.

Clark cleared his throat. “I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” he said softly, looking straight forward. He didn’t want to see the way he knew Bruce was looking at him. “I can stay here. The red sun cell is perfectly suitable-”

“You aren’t staying in a cell!” Bruce snapped and the silence that ensued was palpable.

No one knew what to say as they watched each other, having a silent conversation in looks. It was Dick who finally broke the silence like only he could. “So why did you call us here?” He asked motioning to the Titans around him, sparing just the smallest glance in their direction that told them he knew something was going on. Clark straightened himself and took a step away from Bruce as J’onn went over the jurisdiction he needed them to cover while they examined him. He knew that if he stayed that close, his gravity would pull him back in and that wasn’t a mistake he could come back from here.

Clark watched Dick. His eyes only left him if someone was talking directly to the man. Dick kept glancing over, but Clark looked away each time. As the meeting ended and people went their separate ways Bruce saw Clark move to follow after Dick. He touched his wrist and Clark snapped back to himself. He looked down at where he'd touched and at his face. He didn't try to hide the pain in his eyes.

“He'll come to the manor.” He knew those were the words Clark wanted to hear.

Clark looked back at Dick and Donna talking as they walked down the corridor. He frowned, but didn't follow.

“We should head back. I need to check in with Robin.”

“Right. Robin.” Clark followed him down the hall.

Clark called Martha when they got back to the cave. Bruce tried not to listen as Clark explained and apologized to the woman who had taken him in. Clark paced in the cave. He watched him make the circuit as he talked to Martha. He walked the route as if he'd walked it a hundred times. It was strange to see him so at home in the cave and his mind kept getting stuck on that one difference. Clark walked along the catwalk where the memorial suits stood in their cases. Dick's original suit. One of Jason's. He stood in front of Dick's for a while before turning back.

“So am I sleeping down here? The cot is awful on my back,” Clark grinned. It was forced, but it looked like he was trying to make it real.

“I'll have Alfred prepare a room. I don't know how long it will take to convince the League you are ready to be on your own.”

Clark hummed. “I can go tell him myself. I'm sure you have something more important to do.”

Tim jogged down the stairs half an hour after Clark went up. He watched him check in on various things in the cave before finally coming over to the computer.

“So Clark is living with us?” Tim asked plopping into the chair and spinning. He was in a good mood. Bruce nodded, not wanting to risk ruining his mood. “Cool. Alfred said he's making chicken pot pie for dinner.”

“I didn't know Alfred knew how to make that,” he commented.

Tim chuckled. “Alfred knows everything. It's like the first rule of Robin Club. Well the second. The first rule is don't tell Batman about Robin Club.” Tim looked at him for a long moment, almost like he was daring him to point out the fact that he'd told Batman about it. He didn't. Jason had told him about it a few days after he'd become Robin. Bruce was pretty sure that Dick was the only one that thought it was still a secret. He continued reading through the report.

Tim worked on his own cases. Bruce watched him work for a few minutes. He did seem better than he had during the last few weeks. Maybe he'd fixed whatever problem him and Jason had been having.

“Time for dinner,” Clark called from the top of the stairs.

“Let's go see if Alfred succeeded,” Tim chimed.

“It might be best if we don't mention that I doubted him,” he offered. Tim laughed. He smiled at the sound and followed him into the dining room.

Tim sat in his normal seat. Clark sat across from him where Dick sat on the rare occasions that he was in town for more than patrol. He grinned at Tim.

“Thank you Alfred,” Clark said when the food was placed in front of him. He looked at the dish and then over to Tim who had a devious glint in his eye. “It's my favorite.”

They ate. Clark spent most of dinner pulling information from Tim. He was better at it than Bruce expected and Tim didn't seem to catch on that Clark should know the answers to the questions. He'd already warned him about Kon. Clark had looked like he wanted to ask more about the clone, but had let it go. Tim finished his plate and pushed up.

“I'm going to head out. I need to check on a few things.”

Clark followed him down into the cave when they finished. He settled at the computer while Bruce got changed into his suit. He felt Clark's eyes on him as he pulled the cowl over his head. “You look taller,” Clark commented.

“It's the ears,” he replied drily and pulled up the latest shift information from GCPD. Clark snickered. But didn't move away from him even though he was leaning over him to type on the keyboard.

-

He stepped out over the ledge and looked down at the city. “There is a carjacking a block away from you.” He'd never admit to it, but he jumped at the voice in his ear.

“I never said you could use this frequency,” he replied already on the move.

“You didn't say I couldn't either. I've learned how to live in that gray area.” Clark sounded downright joyful. He stopped the car jacking and tied up the criminals before returning to his patrol. Clark called out incidents every few minutes. Bruce hadn't had someone in his ear like that since his first days and Alfred had never been as chatty. He couldn’t say that he minded. Dick had always been talkative and Clark at least refrained from making puns about every little thing.

He was tired when he got back, the night had been busy. Clark never let him rest. He changed out of the suit and slid into the chair when Clark slipped from it and up onto the desk.

“Robin headed up half an hour ago. He said that he added a few notes to your case.”

“He was supposed to leave it alone,” he grumbled.

“He said that too,” Clark said smiling.

“What?” he asked. He hadn't seen that smile before.

“Oh. You're different with him than... _he_ was with Dick.” Clark's eyes flicked up the stairs. “It's interesting.” His eyes stayed on the stairs for a moment before he turned back to him. “I'm going to head to bed. Don't stay up too late.”

Clark's footsteps had barely faded when Bruce heard Dick step out into the light. “Who is that?” Dick asked.

“Superman,” he replied, eyes still on the screen.

“I know you.” Dick pushed the chair and he turned to look up at his oldest glaring at him. “Clark died. You mourned.” He didn't say anything. “Whoever that is. It's not Clark.”

“It is.”

“No. It's not,” Dick snapped.

“He may not be the same Clark that died, but it is him.”

“Clone?”

“Alternate reality,” he admitted. Dick slumped into a chair.

"Shit. Is it bad that I was hoping you conned Barry into time travel?”

“There would be no need,” he replied. Dick's face scrunched in confusion. “Mention time travel and Barry is volunteering,” he mumbled as he turned back. Dick chuckled.

“So who knows?” Dick asked.

“Myself, Diana, I suspect J’onn, and you. Oh and Martha.” Dick whistled and the silence between them stretched.

“I'm wiped. I'm going to hang around for a little bit.”

“Dick,” he warned. He knew he was staying to keep an eye on this alternate version. Dick ignored him and headed over to change out of his suit. Before he hit the stairs Bruce called out to him. “Be kind. Your relationship was different on his world.” Dick gave him a thumbs up and trudged up the stairs.

-

He'd gone to sleep not long after Dick left, but the morning came too soon. Bruce blinked away the fuzzy feeling and got dressed. Clark was washing dishes in the kitchen when he got down. Alfred stood next to him with a scandalized look on his face.

“B tell him if I'm going to stay here I'm going to take care of myself,” Clark said as soon as he walked in the door. He'd been listening for him. There was an amused glint in his eyes.

“I can tell him, but I doubt that it will stop-” he waved at Alfred. “-that.”

Clark laughed. “Oh I know. I just thought I'd try.” Clark finished washing his plate and set it aside. “There. My last dish.” Alfred looked at Clark, as close as he ever got to disapproval in his eyes.

“We should spar,” Clark said as he  turned. “So you know how much work we'll be doing.”

He paused as he was sitting down in his chair. “Right.” He hated sparring with Clark. It was an exercise in restraint for both of them. Clark reigning in his abilities and Bruce holding back his own skills and the lust ever-thrumming under his skin.

“You don't want to.” He avoided Clark's gaze when he sat down next to him. “I've never seen you not want to fight.”

“You're right. We should see where you're at,” he agreed. He didn't want Clark looking for the reason. Clark frowned at him, but didn't say anything.

He got changed and met Clark in one of the practice rooms. Clark was walking around looking at it. “I thought you might have changed your mind,” Clark said without looking over to him.

“Are you ready?” He asked instead of replying. Clark nodded and they settled into their stances. Bruce looked at him, noting the differences in the way he held himself. He guarded better. Clark boxing had always kind of reminded him of the old boxing cartoons he'd seen as a kid. He smiled as he pictured Clark saying “put ‘em up, see” and waving his fists around. This Clark looked at him like Bruce had seen some of his enemies eyeing him. 

“What are you smiling about?” Clark asked, his arms pulling tighter to his body like he was expecting an attack.

“It's nothing.”

The first attack was what he expected. He blocked it and stepped out of the way of the next attack. He blocked and moved, never making his own attack. Clark added a kick, that surprised him for a second. Bruce stayed on the defensive. Clark's attacks getting faster, but not crossing into super-speed. He stepped back and hit the wall. Clark looked angry as he pushed into his space.

“What was that? Are you just humoring me?”

“No.”

“Then why haven't you made a single attack?” Clark's eyes narrowed and he growled as he grabbed Bruce's forearm, turned, and executed a perfect toss. He had the man's forearm across his throat and searing blue eyes inches from his. Bruce's body responded. Attraction lighting him up like a beacon. He got himself back under control but that moment was all it took for Clark's eyes to widen before darting to his lips and back.

“So that's why you didn't want to spar,” Clark commented and lightened the pressure on his throat but didn't move off of him. “Is this why you didn't teach your Clark how to fight? Were you afraid he'd find out?”

“No,” he replied. It wasn't. He wasn't. He'd never done it because Clark had never seemed interested. He'd let Bruce show him how to throw a punch that wouldn't break any bones in his hand when powerless. He'd let him show him areas to avoid if he was fighting someone who was vulnerable. But he'd never gone beyond that and Clark had never asked.

“If you'd known him back before he was The Superman would you have let him go out there defenseless?” Clark asked.

“No,” he replied.

“He was the same. _It doesn't matter that you're nigh invincible you'll learn how to defend yourself_ ,” Clark said in a voice that he supposed was meant to sound like his Bruce. “I even knocked out Luthor once when I was powerless.” Clark chuckled looking to the side as he recalled the memory. “He was surprised as heck.”

“Can you get off me?” he asked. He avoided Clark's eyes when he looked back at his face. Clark rose at once, floating in the air before he landed to his side. He took the hand offered him.

“So I guess I'll fight worse?” Clark offered.

“Well you certainly can't fight like that in front of anyone else,” Bruce chided him, pulling at his shirt so that it was no longer bunched at his hips. But the damage had already been done, and Clark knew that his stomach was perfect. He was smaller than the Bruce he’d known before, not by much, but enough. Just enough to help Clark remember that he was different when everything else fell so similar.

He swallowed and took a moment to calm his erratic heart, set off by the viscerality of Bruce’s response to him. Of course, Clark knew that it wasn't really for him, but it didn't matter. He had felt it too. He shrugged it off and pressed his lips together, dropping his guard completely. “What would your Clark do?” he asked.

“Raise your shoulders.” A voice called from the doorway and they turned to see Dick leaning there in casual wear. He was watching Clark carefully, letting him know that he knew he was an imposter and didn't quite trust him. “He always attacked like he was ready to defend. Not so great with reflexes so you’ll have to fight the urge to block.”

It took him a moment to shake off the shock but nodded and muttered, “Right.” before he raised his hands again and let them continue to instruct them for an hour.

He had been flipped and pinned and arm-barred so many times when they finished that he had lost count and his body ached in areas it hadn't for years. He sat on the mat for a while after Bruce had left to shower. Clark had promised he would be up after so they could go over more of the league but he didn't want to break the silence yet and he wasn't ready to face Bruce so quickly after hearing his heart yearn for him at every touch. He knew that Dick was still there. He could hear him pacing quietly outside the door as he gathered the nerve to confront him. It took him almost twenty minutes before he came back into the room frowning at him.

“Bruce told me,” he said after a minute of them just staring at each other. “About you. Where you come from.” His arms were crossed on his chest like he was trying to hold himself together.

Clark nodded. “Okay,” he said looking at the mat and his hands that were knotted in his lap. “That's good.” He finally decided and looked back up. “Are you staying here to keep an eye on me?” he asked but held his hand up, “You don't have to answer that, I know you are. I'm glad, it's good to know Bruce has you to look out for him.” He said mostly to himself and fell back on the mat. He closed his eyes wondering if the pain in his chest would ever stop when he looked at Dick. He was so distracted by that pain that he didn't realise Dick had lied down next to him until he felt the mat indent.

He wasn't looking at Clark, he was staring straight up at the ceiling, still frowning. But he knew this was an olive branch. Dick always communicated best through his closeness, offering what he could in distance as comfort. The half foot he had left between them was still enough for Clark to feel the warmth coming off of him and he had to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth to quell the knot in his throat.

“You knew Bruce on your world?” Dick asked softly.

Clark forced a chuckle. “I knew him.” He agreed and after a second of hesitation he added. “I married him.” He could feel Dick staring at him, “We were married for almost ten years.”

They sat quietly for a minute, letting that settle between them. And when Dick spoke his voice was mostly normal. “Does Bruce know that?” he asked.

“Not all of it.” He pressed his lips together and looked over at Dick who was watching him. “When he told me about your earth and the Superman here, I thought it would be better not to tell him the whole truth. He knows we were together.” Clark explained, “I didn't elaborate.”

They were both quiet for a moment. “Bruce was in love with Clark.”

“I know.”

“I never actually told anyone. But I could see it, you know?” Dick asked like he thought that Clark wouldn't get it. “I was friends with Clark, I think he saw it too. I mean I don't see how he couldn't, he saw everything.” He sounded so in awe if that. Clark didn't have it in him to tell him what a burden it could be. “Were we… friends? On your earth? Did Bruce still have me?”

Clark swallowed wondering how much information he should divulge. He didn't want to hurt him. He didn't want to make him feel obligated to spend time with him or try and sooth his feelings. He stared up at the ceiling and took in a deep breath wondering how much it would take to get it out. “How much truth do you want?” he asked finally. Dick just looked at him with a quirk of his brow. “Bruce and I adopted Dick after his parents died. We got married to adopt him, they wouldn't let us otherwise. He was the only person in the chapel with us and a justice of the peace.” Clark let out a shaky laugh, “He got a real kick out of signing the certificate.” He laughed again but it was quick and when it died off, the silence was deafening.

They lay there feeling hurt and finally Clark felt a hand take his and squeeze, pushing his tears into his hairline. “I'm sorry.”

\---

They sparred every morning. Slowly Clark's movements began to mimic the man he'd replaced. He'd had a rough patrol the night before. He'd been caught in the middle of a gang war that he hadn't seen coming. By the end of the night it had taken all of his energy just to change and shower before falling into his bed. He was still tired, but he'd made a promise. When he got down to the cave he already heard the sounds of fighting. He followed the noises and saw Clark and Dick standing a few feet apart chirping back and forth as they circled each other. Tim was perched next to the door watching them. He rubbed his hair before sitting down next to him.

“How long have they been at it?” he asked.

“An hour,” Tim replied. He leaned against his shoulder as they watched.

“Dick keeps dropping his shoulder,” he told Tim.

“He's drawing him in.” Tim looked over to him. He smiled and nodded. Tim's smile was small, but he caught it as he turned back to the pair. “Clark's defending better. Your sessions have been working,” Tim commented.

“I'd say he's right where he should be,” Dick called out. He flipped Clark a second later. Clark laid there staring at the ceiling and heaving in breaths that he didn't need.

Alfred called down that Tim would be late for school if he did not leave soon, and the boy ran out of the room. Dick offered Clark a hand up. “I got Clark with that when I was Robin,” Dick told the man with a grin. “Ended every match with it.”

“You know he was letting you do that right?” Bruce told Dick. 

“No he wasn't!” Dick exclaimed. He smirked and headed out into the cave. “I would have known.”

“You really thought a 10 year old flipped Superman?”

“Because I did!”

“I used to let my Dick win all the time when he was younger. Gave him a confidence boost.” Dick stared in horror at Clark when he finished talking. “Especially since his dad never let him win any of theirs.”

“Well, I flipped _my_ Clark when I was Robin.” Dick crossed his arms. He knew that he wasn't going to let that ‘fact’ go.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Bruce said patting Dick on the shoulder. Clark started laughing and followed him over to the computer.

“You know, I really didn't see this one coming,” Clark said quietly.

“He had been Nightwing for a year the first time he actually surprised our Clark. You should have seen him hanging off Clark's arm though trying to flip him when he was Robin. He remembers it so clearly because he'd been trying for half of the day before Clark thought he'd hurt himself and helped him out.”

They'd been sharing memories like that for the last few days. It started off as retelling of important battles they'd each fought, their big losses and wins. The people they'd fought with, and who they had lost. Something changed though when he told Clark about Jason. He'd talked more about Jason than he had Robin. He'd talked about catching him asleep in the library drooling on one of the first editions. He'd talked about the wild stories he'd tell while they got ready for patrol. He talked about Alfred letting someone help him in the kitchen for the first time ever. He talked until he voice gave out and then he kept talking. Jason had died. But he was back. He talked about coming home to Alfred sitting in the parlor with two cups of tea, one for himself and one for the empty chair next to him. He talked about finding criminals tied up to posts with a birthday card reading ‘enjoy your gift old man’ shoved in the rope. He talked about watching Jason and Tim patrol together for the first time.

Clark told him about Dick. His Dick. How different he'd grown up, yet how similar he was to the man asleep in the manor above them. He talked and he could see how much he missed his son. Bruce knew that loss. He'd never want anyone to feel the pain of living when a child didn't. Most of Clark's stories involved Dick. Bruce knew he was avoiding talking about the man he'd loved and lost, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the stories at this point.

-

The call for assistance came in when they'd just sat down to dinner. Dick shoveled food into his mouth and pushed Tim back into his chair when he tried to rise.

“You've got Gotham tonight Timmy,” Dick said in the middle of chewing a chunk of bread.

“That hasn't changed at all,” Clark muttered as he stared at Dick struggle to keep the too big bite in his mouth as he chewed. Bruce smirked.

“Master Dick!” Alfred admonished. Dick mumbled an apology through his chewing and rushed from the room when Alfred's eyes narrowed on him.

“Join us,” Bruce said and stood. He should check that Dick didn't choke on his way down the stairs. He knew that if they were calling in the Titans too then they could use all the help that could get. Clark's face lit up and Bruce's heart thumped loudly in his chest. He hoped Tim's whine about being left out covered the sound.

-

He should have left Clark at the manor. The sorceress was shooting bolts of unknown magic out at random intervals. Bruce had dodged the first couple simply trying to get to where Flash and Green Arrow were holed up behind a building. Clark was hovering in the sky above them watching the woman. The Titans had been called to help with evacuations.

“We can't get close enough. I tried, but she sent out a wave when I got too close.”

“Same thing happened with my arrows.”

“Diana is talking to her, trying to calm her down. It doesn't appear to be working,” Flash said as a car rolled past them.

He watched the woman as her eyes flitted around. She looked terrified. Her body's natural defenses had kicked on. Any time someone got close she focused on them. He knew they'd have to draw her attention, but the timing would have to be perfect.

It took too long, too many tries to get her subdued. Diana was kneeling near the woman, the lasso tied around her arms. They'd been huddled together talking since the woman had been caught. He let his eyes move from the pair to where Clark was leaning back against a brick wall head hanging back with a dazed expression on his face. He'd been too late and had gotten blasted by a frenzied attack. Zatanna had shown up as they'd captured the woman and was looking everyone over. Flash had giggled for a few minutes before passing out after he got hit. Clark seemed to be having the same reaction, but drawn out. He chuckled and looked over to Zatanna when she spoke to him. He walked over. The magician looked up at him from her crouch next to Clark.

“He should be fine. It was a wild burst so the effects will wear off in a few hours. He should sleep it off.” She looked over to Barry to prove her point.

He pulled Clark to his feet. Clark's arm wrapped around his waist and held on. Zatanna raised an eyebrow when Clark pressed his face against his neck. He ignored her and called for a transport. He wasn't about to carry Clark back to the plane. Dick could bring it back. Dick's voice was chipper as he told him to take care of Supes.

Clark's legs stopped cooperating as they stepped into the manor. It had been an ordeal getting the man up the stairs from the cave. He sighed, the couch would have to do. He turned toward the library and the sets of couches in it. Clark had talked about rainy days spent reading and dozing in the library with the fire going and cups of tea that always appeared at the perfect time. He could see how much he missed those moments and wanted to give him some semblance of normalcy when he woke from his stupor.

-

Soft lips brushed against his neck, the barest touch teasing his skin. Bruce didn't bother opening his eyes as he tilted his head, opening up the space between his jaw and shoulder. The kisses grew firmer, still teasing, but urging him awake. It'd been a while since he'd had dreams like this. Broad hands spread across his hip and up his stomach to rest over his heart. His heart hammered in his chest at the playful nip at his ear. He kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to wake up yet. He wanted to live in this space. In this moment. Letting sensation rule him. The hands roaming his skin pushed him onto his back and lips found his. He sucked in a breath as the sleepy kisses grew more heated. The hands pulling him closer.

“I had a terrible dream,” Clark murmured against his lips. There was something different about his voice. Something he'd never heard in his dreams before. “You died, the whole world died.” He opened his eyes. This wasn't a dream. A half awake Clark was hovering over him. His hands still leaving streaks of heat against his skin. “I know you're going to say it was just a nightmare.” He let Clark kiss him. Let him silence the words that the man imagined a version of him saying. “But it felt so real. It hurt so much.” The kisses stopped and the grip on his arms tightened. He reached up and touched Clark's face, wiping the tear that leaked out. He smoothed the wrinkle between his brow before leaning up and kissing the trembling lips before him. “You were gone,” Clark breathed like it was the worst thing he could ever imagine.

“It's okay. It was a dream. I'm right here.” Bruce tugged him down. Clark's arms wrapped around him instantly as he breathed heavily against his shoulder. It didn't take long for Clark to drift back to sleep. “It's okay,” he whispered into the dark as Clark snored against his shoulder.

Bruce waited until he was sure that Clark was asleep before slipping from the bed. He moved to the chair in the corner and watched Clark sleep. He'd thought that the feeling in his chest was the last dying embers of his love for his Clark. He missed his friend, his partner. He did. But the man sleeping in his bed had filled that hole in his heart without him realizing it. It felt different. Clark had always been untouchable. He'd always been something Bruce yearned for, but never actually imagined having. This Clark sat next to him and told him stories about his life like nothing else mattered. He left Bruce alone when he felt himself lashing out, and he pulled him out of the cave when he needed to breathe. He read his moods like no one had before. But were they _his_ moods. Or did they belong to his double. He got up as the sun began to rise and headed down to the kitchen. Alfred seemed surprised that he was up, but did not comment on it.

Clark came down an hour later. He had changed clothes. He met his eyes and looked confused. When he asked about the battle, Bruce realized he didn't remember. He filled in the missing time. The night in his retelling ended with him leaving Clark to sleep in the library. Thankfully the man didn't ask why he'd woken up in Bruce's bed.

The next few days continued like nothing had happened. He sparred with Clark. They talked. Superman went out on his own, rescuing kittens from trees and helping out where he could. He watched Clark and could feel Dick watching him. Bruce knew a conversation he wouldn't like was coming, but he did his best to avoid it. Before Dick could reach his breaking point he sent the Titans on a covert mission. He needed to give himself a few days to sort out the jumble in his chest.

Clark was talking about Tim. He'd started going on patrol with him a few days back. It might have been due to Bruce snapping over the comms for Clark to be quiet. He hadn't meant the words to come out as sharp as they had, but he hadn't been able to focus. Clark was impressed with the boy. Bruce couldn't help but smile with pride at the praise he was giving his son. Clark said something about his Bruce, how he imagined him reacting to this Robin. The question was out of his mouth before he'd processed that he knew the answer.

“Do you miss him? Your Bruce?”

Clark stopped mid-sentence. He hadn't meant to interrupt. “More than anything,” Clark replied. He knew that. He'd known that for weeks, for the entire time that the man had been there. Yet he couldn't stop the ache building in his chest.

“Do you? Miss yours?” Clark asked after a few seconds of silence. He should have known the question was coming. He should have had a response ready. Instead his words escaped him and he met Clark's eyes. The silence sat heavy between them.

\---

He knew. He had to. Bruce knew that Clark remembered what had happened. Clark could see it in his eyes and feel it in the way he was watching him like he might suddenly lapse back into his confusion and jump him again. And he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it. When he woke up that morning in the same bedroom his world ended in surrounded by the smell of Bruce around him and his lips still buzzing from his familiar kiss, it was the closest he had come to feeling whole in over two years. And he hadn't been confused. Sure, he was delirious when he crawled into Bruce’s bed, but he knew what world he was on when he woke up. He had almost made peace with it. It was almost nice.

But then the guilt started. And it didn't stop. It just kept swelling and swelling inside of him until it was almost overwhelming but he just managed to keep it down. He stayed busy. He sparred with Dick and patrolled with Tim. He told Bruce stories and listened to him talk about his kids and the city and watched him until he didn't have to remind himself that he was different. He was Bruce, sure. They looked the same. They moved the same. And yes they were at their core the same. But he was quieter, soft in a way that the man he had known had never been. There was a sadness so deep inside of him that it radiated out of his core- but that softness. That need to find something in all the nothing, it drew Clark in like a moth to a flame. And he wanted to kiss him again. _Him_ , and not the man he had known before.

But he couldn't.

Clark was hiding. He’d spent the last few days tapped into Bruce, following his heartbeat around the manor so that he could avoid running into him. He'd never felt so trapped before. He followed screams from around the world to be out of the manor for a few minutes and avoid the conversation that he knew they were about to have. Clark was done. He had been trained. The Justice League trusted him on their earth and he no longer needed a babysitter. He was a free man, but he didn't want to be. He didn't want to leave and find his own way out in this world. He wanted to be here, with Bruce, and to do that he had to stay away from him.

Alfred found him in the library when Bruce and the boys were on patrol. He didn't say anything, but set a cup of coffee in front of him and held his hands behind his back as if waiting for something. Clark looked at the cup and then back at the butler. “Is it that obvious?” he asked.

Alfred pursed his lips into a deep frown and nodded his head to one side. “I have watched Master Bruce pine over Master Kent for years. I know the signs.”

\---

Bruce didn't need to be a detective to know that he was being avoided. There were a few times that he saw Clark walking down the hall away from him. Once he'd walked into the kitchen to see Tim staring at the back door in confusion. He tried not to let it affect him, but he knew that it was his fault. If he had simply lied and agreed that he too missed the person he'd lost. Instead the truth had hung there and things had changed.

He was on monitor duty when he heard the door open with a quiet hush. He knew who had walked in without checking. Diana settled in the chair next to him.

“You are troubled,” she said. Her eyes locked on him brushing aside his defenses and seeing in to his core. It was something he didn't think he would ever get used to.

“I will be fine,” he told her.

She nodded in an easy agreement. “I have no doubts that you will be fine. But you are not now. How is Superman doing?”

“He is ready. He is as close to our Superman as he is ever going to be.”

“And this bothers you.” He met Diana's eyes. She smiled at him. “I know you value your privacy. It should be good to have him out of your home.”

He almost shook his head. He didn't want Clark to leave. He hadn't done it for himself. He'd done it for Clark. He knew that he didn't want to be stuck in the manor where so many of his memories had been made, but not with the people who lived there.

Diana touched his hand. He looked down at the her delicate fingers before meeting her eyes and the soft smile on her face.

“I will inform the others.” He frowned. He didn't understand why she was still holding his hand. “Bruce, I am sorry. I did not see how much you cared for Kal.” He felt his mask falling in place. Diana's face softened, her grip tightening. “I cannot be sorry for loving him, but I am sorry that you were hurting because of it.”

“Diana,” his voice was raw with the guilt he carried for years. She shook her head.

“No. I know you cannot help who you love and my friend, you deserve to be loved.” She kissed him on the cheek as she left. He was still staring after her when J'onn came to relieve him.

-

Dick tossed a staff at him and walked into one of the training rooms without waiting for him to follow. He set down the wrench and wiped off his hands before he joined him. The tense line of Dick's shoulders when he stopped in front of him confirmed his theory. It hadn't happened in a while, but there were times when Dick came to him to work off his anger. They fought, they argued, and at the end they both felt more relaxed.

Dick was quiet as they faced off. Normally he tried to draw Bruce into a verbal sparring match even if most of the time it ended up being Dick bantering with himself. The sounds of their breaths and his own heartbeat filled his senses. Dick spun and his staff knocked against his jaw. His eyes narrowed in reflex. Dick blocked his jab and moved to strike him again in the same spot.

“Do you want to know what Alfred told me a few minutes ago?”

Dick landed a blow to his ribs.

“He told me Clark has moved back to Smallville.”

Dick swiped his leg out from under him.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Are you afraid of being happy?”

He pushed up but the end of Dick's staff pressed against his collarbone.

“No. We're going to talk about this. I've watched you get so close with so many people. But then you get this look about you, like you're waiting for something to come along and ruin it. Of course something does come along, like the universe is granting your wish. But you've never done it yourself before.

“I thought Clark was different.” Dick lightened the pressure holding him down. “You were happy. Why would you send him away?”

“He didn't want to be here.”

“What?” Dick asked shock causing him to take a step back.

“Maybe I was happy. But I am not going to force him to stay here when he isn't happy here.” He pushed up, but stayed sitting. He slumped over, letting down his walls. Silence wrapped around them. Dick sat cross legged across from him. He looked down at his hands. “I can't do this again.”

“B, why do you think he wasn't happy?”

He looked at the empathy in Dick's eyes and looked away. He had never done well at accepting anyone's care. It had taken years for him to accept Dick's open devotion and even longer to believe that it wasn't misplaced. It was times like these that he doubted that. But Dick offered his concern with no pretense and he let out a small breath.

“I almost told him how I felt. I saw on his face that he knew the words were coming. He looked so uneasy and I couldn't. Again.” He balled his hands into fists. “He avoided me for a week. I know when I am not welcome.”

“That's never stopped you before,” Dick scoffed, trying to get a little anger rising in him to battle the sadness.

“This isn't one of my sons complaining that I'm smothering them. This is me forcing my feelings on someone else who does not and will not feel the same.”

“But-”

“No. I know you're going to try to convince me that he could. But I know that it is not me that he wants. I may have his face, but I'm not him. I'm not the one he grew up with. I'm not the one he raised his son with. I'm not the one he had a life with. I'm not who he loved and I can never be him.”

“Don't hate me,” Dick said. He looked up and Dick was looking over his shoulder. It was then that he felt eyes on him. Dick offered up a sheepish smile that was both guilty and wished him luck at the same time. He turned and climbed to his feet. Clark stood in the doorway eyes focused on him. He watched Dick slip past with one last thumbs up to Bruce like he wasn't leaving him to have his heart shattered.

“I know you aren't him,” Clark said breaking the silence. “I don't want you to be him.” Bruce’s wary expression didn't change as Clark stepped into the room and closed the door. “I don't compare you to him anymore. I haven't for a while now.” Bruce's shoulders stayed tense and Clark wanted more than anything to walk over to him. To touch him, to ease the tension but he tucked his arms behind him instead and lean against the door to fight the urge. “I know you're different. And I will always love him and miss him, but-”

Bruce closed his eyes cringing away from it, “You don't have to-” he started.

“But I love you too.” he finished anyway. Bruce opened his eyes, his shoulders going slack. “I do.” Clark shrugged apologetically. “I didn't want to. I tried really hard to stop. But I can’t. I love you, Bruce.”

Bruce shook his head, his eyes were wet and he couldn't get any words out. Clark couldn't stop himself then, he pushed off the door and closed the distance, letting his hands trace over him in an attempt to inspire calm. “I love you,” he said again. “I'm sorry. But I love you. And I know I'm not your Clark. And I know you aren't my Bruce. But maybe you could be. Maybe… I could be?” he asked, not daring to hope.

He let his hands slide down his arms getting ready to turn as a rock dropped into his stomach. But where he was expecting his hands to fall through open fingers, they were caught by a firm grip. His eyes shot up from the mat and looked at the man in front of him. His eyes were bright. They were tired. They held so much pain and fear that for a moment Clark thought he might be looking at himself, but he didn't get a chance to dwell on that. Because Bruce nodded, just enough to barely see and gruffly said, “Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have story requests, questions or just want to say hello-- follow DNA and I on twitter at [@PBrubbs](https://twitter.com/PBrubbs) and [@Dnawhite51](https://twitter.com/Dnawhite51) and see the process of our day to day writing frustrations.


	2. Epilogue

“You know it's almost our anniversary,” Clark mentioned in the middle of battle. He took a blaster to the shield on his chest and smirked at Bruce. God he hated that man sometimes. He kept working while Clark flew around watching his back. There were few others that he would trust to protect him. 

“Is it?” he asked once the mothership was falling into the ocean and he was standing on Clark's toes hovering over the wreckage. Arthur was going to complain next meeting. He could already feel the headache coming. 

“Don't tell me you forgot again,” Clark's voice held a mocking laughter. It had been nearly five years since he'd forgotten their anniversary and yet Clark refused to let him live it down. He stayed silent as they descended back to the shore where the batmobile and the other league members were waiting. Clark snuck a superspeed kiss before letting him down. Bruce saw Barry's face flush and he glared at Clark. He'd been getting more brazen with his affections. The league separated and he watched Superman hover for a moment in the sunlight before he was gone.

“You knew Barry was there,” he said when Clark walked down the stairs into the cave a few hours later. 

“I did. He's seen us before, why does it matter?” Clark's eyes narrowed, taunting him to say the words that would start their next big fight. 

“I suppose it doesn't,” he said instead. Clark froze and looked over to him from where he was ignoring the do not feed the bats sign. He always ignored the sign, even the one Alfred had printed once. Clark had chuckled at ‘Master Clark please refrain from feeding the bats,’ and fed them anyway. 

“Are you serious?” 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, yes. You're Batman. You're ‘always’ serious.” He resented the air quotes Clark tossed up. “But you're really okay with telling people?” 

“I think it's time.” 

Clark smiled wide and invaded his space before Bruce could blink. Clark pulled the cowl away and looked at him for a moment before kissing him. 

-

“You forgot to get me a present didn't you?” Clark asked while he caught his breath. “That's why you decided you're okay with it.” He nudged Bruce’s shoulder with his nose. Bruce let his head drop to face Clark. He felt absolutely wrecked and Clark looked like he could go win a triathlon and be ready for round two. He'd been feeling old lately. Tired. Earlier in the week he'd had to stop and catch his breath after fighting a pair of drug dealers. He motioned Clark to come closer and the Kryptonian wrapped around him. His head rested over his heart like it did every night he stayed with him. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” he grumbled. 

“I can act surprised.” He pinched the invulnerable man just to watch him pretend to squirm. Clark leaned up and stole his breath with a deep kiss. They kissed until it was either keep going or stop. Clark pressed a soft kiss on his lips and settled back down. 

“I cleared my schedule this weekend,” he told the ceiling. Clark lifted his head, propping his chin on his chest to meet his eyes when he looked down. “Dick is going to patrol Gotham for me. I thought we could go see that nebula Hal has been talking about.” 

Clark smiled, eyes bright even in the darkness of their room. “A real vacation? Not a cruise with Bruce Wayne’s adoring fans?” 

“No, only the two of us,” he said, jaw cracking with a yawn. “We can tell the boys when we get back,” he mumbled mind already drifting off in the warmth and safety of Clark’s arms. 

-

Bruce watched Tim present their latest project to the gathered team and felt pride fill his chest. The night before he'd watched Tim practicing, pacing back and forth in the library as he spoke, writing and rewriting his words until he was happy with them. Bruce’s suggestions were few and far between. Tim finally called it quits when he tripped over his own pants and tumbled to the floor. He’d watched Tim laugh for a few minutes before offering him a hand up. 

“I think they liked it,” Tim offered when Bruce hung up the phone. He'd stepped out to answer a call, Damian’s school once again calling about his attendance. He sighed, not really wanting to deal with that before the weekend. He could probably get Dick to talk to him about it if he asked, or if Clark asked. 

“You did great.” Tim stood a little straighter and he was pretty sure there was a smile on his face as he stepped out of the elevator.

By lunch he had reached his limit. The upcoming weekend beckoning him forward. He wanted nothing more than to leave and coax Clark into starting their weekend early. He didn't think they'd make it anywhere further than the Fortress, but he wasn't exactly sure he'd mind. The fortress could probably project an image of the nebula for them anyway. He rubbed his arm. The knife wound throbbed when he knocked on Tim’s door. He'd barely been able to block the blindside hit heading for Dick. Nightwing had dispatched the last goon a second later and they'd headed back, finally finding Penguin's latest base of operations. 

All it took was a raise of an eyebrow and Tim was grinning and out of his chair. He grabbed a few things, but followed him to the elevator. 

Bruce was exhausted when he stepped into the elevator. Tim leaned against the back wall, body relaxing and eyes shutting for a few minutes. He could see the strain on him, maybe they all needed some rest. “What do you say we take a half day?” he asked punching the button for the lobby before Tim could respond and leaned back against the wall next to him. “We could stop by and pick up Damian drag him to lunch.” Tim didn't look very enthused about his brother's attendance, but agreed. He opened a file, still trying to finish that last bit of work. 

“Bruce?” Tim asked, his voice was distorted. “Everything okay?” 

He looked over to-

“Tim?” 

\---

Clark slumped down in front of the control board. The chill air of the fortress reaching deeper into his weary bones. He leaned forward and sighed. There was a tiny beep. He looked up and saw the symbol in the corner. His throat tightened and, after a moment, he pressed it. 

“Hello, love.” The Bruce on the screen was smiling. He looked tan and well rested. There was a mark on his neck just under his jaw that Clark remembered putting there almost year ago. Just a few days shy in fact. He remembered because Bruce had scolded him for leaving one so high. The cowl wouldn't cover it. He'd apologized, by leaving a trail of them down Bruce's chest. “I know I shouldn't be making this video while you're out getting lunch, but I wanted you to remember how happy you make me.” Bruce smiled, brighter than he'd ever seen before. 

Clark hit pause on the video and had to breathe for a few minutes. This was so much worse than he thought it would be. Here he was with a goodbye. A real, physical video that he could keep and watch and understand. It was everything he had wanted the first time… but now that the second had happened and yet another Bruce Wayne had been taken from him… he couldn't do this. He leaned over the desk, holding his head in his hands and bumped the keyboard in mistake. It continued..“I know you, and I know that however long it's taken you to visit the fortress you've been blaming yourself the entire time. But Clark, my death wasn't your fault- just like your first love's loss wasn't your fault. I decided to don the cowl. I decide every day to step out onto those streets. Those choices were mine.” He wondered if Bruce had ever considered his death not being caused by his alter ego. Bruce was quiet for a few seconds, trying to gather his thoughts. He saw the emotion in them when he looked back at the camera. The smile gone from his face. 

“Look after the boys. Dick won't understand my decision, but Damian will need him. Dick will be a better father to him than I could ever be.” Bruce paused then to run his hand through his hair. “We've talked about this in the past, and I know you never liked those discussions, but they needed to happen. You know my thoughts. You know I've chosen Jason. I know you haven't always agreed with my decision, but please back me on this. He can do this. He can be what the city needs. He can be Batman, but he'll need help. They are stubborn and will try to fight it, but I know they will be better for trusting each other.” Bruce's face lightened for a moment, letting himself hope for the future he was trying to plan. 

“Go to Alfred. He will make sure that everyone gets their letters, but he won't open his own. Read it to him, make sure he understands how much he meant to me.” 

He wiped at his face as Bruce cleared his throat, the depth of emotion he hid behind his walls buried once more. 

“I should have said it more, but I love you.”

He heard his own voice calling out to Bruce on the recording. Bruce's eyes flicked up and the last image on the screen was Bruce's face lifting into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As usual this is a weird amalgamation of too many DC plot lines, cause what isn't these days? 
> 
> And to Ginger - We really cannot thank you enough for your comments back on our first DC fic and every comment since. They really meant a lot when we weren't sure if we should even bother posting our fic. Even when you weren't a fan of the pairing. (This was the Superbat we were writing back in... May... Sorry it took so long. Days came out of nowhere and consumed our lives.) You were the one that inspired this cause dammit Clark did look hungrily at Jay in the Batman suit and it totally meant they were together. I'm sorry this didn't have a happier ending, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. - DNA
> 
> If you have story requests, questions or just want to say hello-- follow DNA and I on twitter at [@PBrubbs](https://twitter.com/PBrubbs) and [@Dnawhite51](https://twitter.com/Dnawhite51) and see the process of our day to day writing frustrations.


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